The Vampyre Papers I
by kivati
Summary: Winstead is a Vampire unlike all the rest. He's a shameful coward and bully, who runs at the sight of danger. The first packet details his transformation from a boy to a monster, his usurpation of his father's throne. A Warhammer Fantasy tale


THE VAMPYRE PAPERS I

_**THE VAMPYRE PAPERS I**_

_The Memoirs of a Cowardly Vampire_

_(A Warhammer Fantasy Story)  
_

What follows is the first packet of a collection of papers discovered in the late Count Harsten's seaside mansion in our Imperial Calendar year 2510. The old man had vanished, and his house put up for auction. I placed a large bid for the home overlooking the Sea of Claws after his disappearance, consequently won it, and only stumbled on the papers through accident. I found them in a secret chamber locked within an expensive, gold gilded chest. What I read was the extensive personal experiences of a man who claimed to be ancient, indeed, older than the Empire itself. When I first tried to publish the papers in 2512, they were met by consternation by the Altdorf Press and some of the public. Indeed, witch hunters even came knocking on my door to dispose of them, but I was determined to see the papers in print. What you now hold in your hands is the fruits of my labours. The Altdorf Press did indeed publish it the following year as a work of fiction. I have my doubts, but I guess that will be up to the reader to determine. Count Harsten's recollections are quite vivid and detailed, and the men he supposedly _was_ well researched and realised. One can only hope the following work to be fiction. Whatever the truth, I'm sure you'll find the first packet of papers intriguing.

The papers have not been edited much, only a few alterations to correct Count Harsten's spelling, and to censor the swearing found in all of the packets. There are also a number of endnotes for more information.

**F.O.B**

_**Winstead's Empire**_

_-250 I.C to – 8 I.C_

I know not why I've decided to write my memoirs. If you knew me, you'd see it as quite an undertaking, for I have lived more than the lifespan of a single man. More than a few generations. I am nearly three thousand years old. I have gone by many names, of which some are still highly regarded today as when I made a name of them back then.

How so, dare you ask? Why, that is quite simple really. You see, I am a Vampire. That dreaded creature of the night so feared by mortals of all races. Yes, I have a paler complexion than most. If I had a gold coin for every time some fop has asked me if I ever go out in the sun, I'd be a richer Vamp today. Yes, I have fangs, but the useful kind which protrude only on my say so (an ability that has saved my bacon on many an occasion.) I do drink blood, but I much prefer a decent glass of Cognac. Some call us a parody of man, or a shadow. Perhaps there's some truth to that, but to tell you I feel no emotions would be less of a truth. I feel hate and fear like the next man, and that curious feeling called love, or desire.

I have met many Kings and Emperors, all of which you'll discover my opinions on, which I have no shame in revealing. Most of them were silly b--s, pompous clowns like Mandred the Ratslayer, who sadly did his best to ruin the Empire and instead became the ruler of it, or brave fools lacking in wit and charisma like Sigmar Heldenhammer.

I shall start my tale at the very beginning, for that, it seems, is the ideal place to begin.

I had a privileged birth, born to a noble family in the heart of the Empire. It was not the Empire then. Reikdorf, now known as Altdorf, had yet to be raised by the prospering tribes of man. The Dwarfs had just began to venture from out of the World's Edge Mountains, making contact with the many tribes whom warred amongst each other, and the various foes that still plague mankind today.

They came with valuables the likes my people had never seen before. When they came to my home, I was about five or six. I stared out from the parapet, feet planted firmly on the wooden rampart and watched them come. It was a breezy day, the sun hidden by a mask of grey and black clouds that threatened us with rain.

I smelt the smoke from the homesteads that squatted like sleeping boars within the wooden walls of our hill fort. They were simple structures, laughable by today's standards, built mostly from wood, with thatched roofs made from reeds, mud and grass. There was, in fact, very little stonework inside the hill fort of Haldon. Stone was primarily used for the keep, which stood at the centre of the fort, but even that was mostly constructed from the solid trees of the forest. It was also used in the granaries to preserve our food better.

As I peered out, my tall and strong father at my side, I watched the caravan of Dwarfs approach from the eastern road, between the forested hillside slopes. At first they were quite distant, so I could not tell the difference in height, but as they neared, I noticed they were far broader than any man I had seen, and far shorter too.

"Well," said my father, "I'll be damned. The rumours are true!"

My father was a likeable man despite the violent times of his existence. I had seen him slay several men with a sword in one day, his broad shouldered form covered in blood, but the next day he would pat me on the head and be all smiles. My mother was no longer alive, or so he told me. He made no effort to fabricate a tale of her disappearance, she was simply not there. Strange, to some maybe, that I made no effort to retrieve information about her, but it was our people's way. We did not dwell in the past, or think too much of the future.

The Dwarfs reached the gates of our fort, their wagons drawn by shaggy haired oxen. The Dwarfs did not look like they were here for war, though some were armed. Even so, my father stood from the rampart, hands on his waist and introduced himself.

"My name is Heldread, King of the Burgoise. What is it you want?"

A Dwarf with a long, white beard strode forward, dressed in a blue and white chequered robe. He had a large nose and rosy red cheeks. When he spoke it was a loud and gruff voice that echoed across the concentric banks and deep ditch that circled our home.

"My name is Grandahold of the Clan of Mournbeard. We come in peace and to trade."

The Dwarf spoke the southern dialect of the human tribes. Certain words I did not understand at the time, but that was the general gist of it. After a brief conversation, my father allowed them through, though he had armed men keep a watchful eye on the strange newcomers as they moved through the small gatehouse, and into the broad space within.

Their carts were covered with fine drapes that were worth more than Haldon itself. The craftsmanship of the vehicles made ours look like children's attempts. I believe this is where the term 'Umgal', or 'people who make shoddy things', was first phrased.

The Dwarfs were a strange lot, some distant and gruff, some strangely boisterous and friendly. On that first occasion, they pulled back the sheets from the carts to reveal weapons and armour. We had worked out how to make weapons from smelting bronze and iron, but these were made from far more durable metals. They were encrusted with glittering stones the colours of the rainbow. Our armour was simple iron-studded leather jackets and iron bowl-shaped helms. My father, being King, had a chain-mail suit. The dwarf armour was made from thick plate, and weighed a tonne. Very durable stuff the likes our smiths could not manage to produce without guidance from the Dwarfs. They stared at them now, mouths agape, eyes wide with awe.

My father had a sword with a single emerald attached to the hilt. He would wear a similar coloured stone on a chain around his neck, and stored various special items at home, but that was the limit of his wealth. The Dwarfs were a rich people. They seemed content with what my father offered them, mainly various meats and hides collected from the granary pits and the tanners.

As a gift, my father presented Grandahold his necklace. The Dwarf was quite taken back by this gesture, and clapped my father on the back (for obvious reasons he couldn't reach my father's shoulder, though I expect he would of if he could) and drew back his cloak. He presented a knife, the sheath emblazoned with the runes of his people and offered it out in both hands.

My father nodded, took the knife and held it skywards as he unsheathed the blade. There was a sparkle as it caught the sun, which had decided to poke its ancient head between the clouds. The blade itself was studded with precious stones.

They then shook hands.

"The Dwarf people are friends to the Burgoise," said my father, declaring it loud before the gathered crowd.

I didn't care for them much. They looked like a silly race to me, like bearded, muscled children sharing toys with idiot adults. My father led them away, between the tight paths through the homesteads, the granaries and towards the keep.

A trail of intrigued commoners followed us dressed in their dirty rags. I noticed the arrogant look of the Dwarfs as they studied our primitive architecture and way of life. I would soon learn that they lived in the mountains, within giant halls inside the rock itself. Why were these creatures so afraid of light? I do not recall much of the day. They were allowed to rest and have time to themselves before the evening.

That evening we dined with the Dwarfs in the communal area (a large round hall three hundred metres in diameter,) though I was not allowed to stay for long. The mead was swiftly brought out at the start, along with an assortment of foods reserved for special occasions. Before the drinking grew heavy, I was sent to bed. My protests were met by a slap which sent me sprawling to the pelt covered floor. My father was in one of those moods he would rarely be in if it wasn't for the drink. I can't abide the stuff myself, beers I mean. I'm not adverse to a glass of fine wine,mind, but then I always had more civilised tastes than the rest of my people.

In the morning they were gone. A heavy rain kept me inside most of the day, but my father gave me a few toys the Dwarfs had left for me. They were sturdy, intricate things. Two were figurines of Dwarf soldiers which could move their arms and legs. My own toys couldn't do that, so they intrigued me for a while. There was also a golden ball studded with smooth stones that I had to roll at several tall wooden pins. I decided to roll them at my old figurines instead, smashing the stiff soldiers into pieces. It made me smile.

It wasn't for another eight years that the road to my current state began. It started with a knock at the door. I was still awake, but it was long past bed time. I slipped out of my bed, wrapped in the brown sheet to keep the cold at bay, and opened the door. There was no-one there. I peeked out into the corridor. Moonlight filtered through the northern window, but the place was dark.

"Hello," I muttered. All I could hear was the wind rushing against the wooden walls.

_Winstead_, a voice called. _I'm here_.

It made me jump. The voice was female, but I didn't see one in the hall, and it wasn't one I recognised. Yet she knew my name.

_Come, this way. Follow my voice. You can do it, I know you can._

I haven't the faintest idea what possessed me to follow that haunting voice, but I did. I testify to this day however that I believe it must have been some wicked magic, for I've never been one for brave acts. I may well be known, throughout the centuries and under many different names, as a brave one, but I assure you, every tale you've heard of the names I've lived by has mostly been false. I've made a life out of looking after my own skin. What other people do with theirs, well, that's up to them.

Anyhow, I quickly scooped up my cloak that was folded over the back of my only chair, slung it around my shoulders, and followed the voice.

_Yes, that's the way. Over here. Come, young-one, we have much to discuss._

The voice led me out of my home, into the deserted paths. I could see the odd flicker of amber from the windows of several homes, and the smoke rising in twirling columns into the star-studded sky.

I shivered in the cold and wrapped my moth-bitten cloak about my skinny form. I looked up at the moons, and at the swirling violets that twirled like whirlpools around the silver orbs.

_Come closer_.

The voice made my heart beat faster, sending shivers down my spine. I did as I was told, sneaking up the ladder to the rampart, and shimmying down the wall onto the ground. That in itself was quite a feat, as I recall, for I've never been one for heights. Whenever I'm higher than a horse I go into a swoon.

I soon made it across the ditch and into the wilds. The thought of being ravaged by wolves crossed my mind, but the fact that this was all a dream did too. Maybe I'd wake up at the first sign of danger?

"Where are you?" I cried. It echoed through the snow-capped forest like a ghost's wail. Tall trees cast shadows across the silver-glimmering ground. A sinister silence followed. All I heard was my breathing and heartbeat, and the whisper of the wind as it played through the forest. Snow flakes fell gently from the canopy, fluttering downwards with an assortment of dry amber leaves shaped like daemon hands.

_You're getting closer. Keep following my voice. _

Now, as you may have guessed, I was seriously considering my foolishness of leaving the safety and warmth of my home, but on I went, up a steep incline where the jagged rocks embedded into the earthen slope cut my hands and dug into my plain doeskin shoes.

The wind seemed to relax here, and I used the foliage to climb, clinging onto root and branch.

_You're almost there!_

She spoke excitedly. It was then that I paused. I saw a dark entrance set into the hillside, large rocks forming a natural archway into a cave. What lay inside, I did not know, but I was certain this was where I had been led to. A whole series of ghastly thoughts entered my mind. My hands became sweaty, my heart rate dangerously fast. My father had told me stories of monsters as a child, and as a rule they mostly lived in caves like this one.

"Good," said the voice, this time by my ear.

My arm hairs stood on end and I couldn't move. I felt cold breath on my cheek.

The speaker laughed loudly, and I heard her trample the snow as she slowly made her way to my front.

The woman couldn't have been older than twenty and was beautiful, with white skin as pale as the twin moons, with red lips as colourful as a rose. Her eyes were large and lavender, with delicate lashes. Her hair was long and braided and as pitch as the night.

I remember thinking, aren't you cold? For she only had on a slip of a dress which clung to her slender figure. It was pale blue and seemed to shimmer beneath the moonlight.

"My name is Elin," she said, crouching by me and stroking the long black hair from my face.

"What do you want with me?" I asked. I was scared and she knew it. She could hear my heart beating as loudly as a marching regiment of foot was going by.

A smile spread across her face, her eyes narrowed and brow furled.

"Why, I want to tell you about your mother," says she.

"My mother?" says I.

"Yes, but I can't tell you here. I must take you away somewhere. Do not be scared, little one."

I noticed the fangs and that did it for me. I cried out in terror and took to flight, scurrying away from the monster back down the slope. I ran as fast as I could and am sure I would have fallen and broken my neck if she hadn't of plucked me from the air as I stumbled over a ill-placed root. I'm not sure whether or not that would have been for the best seeing as what I am now; alone and maudlin. I've had a fair old life, to be honest, seen a great many things not even races such as Elves could attest to. My mind is as sharp now as it's always been, but perhaps it would have been easier to die back on that slope. At least I wouldn't have been scared witless countless times throughout the years of my long existence. If I had died, the course of history would have been different, I can assure you of that.

Her strength amazed me, as well as her cat-like agility. She was perched on a branch of the tree above me, and held me as though I weighed light as a feather. I squirmed in her grasp, trying to roll out of my cloak, but she lowered me carefully, and patted my head.

"I see you've not inherited your father's bravery," she said. "No matter, little one, for you will."

Well, that's a lie if ever I heard one. I never did learn bravery. Oh, I can put on a show alright, as many could attest to if they were still alive. I've lived the army life, through the thick of long arduous campaigns, never once acting bravely, killing only those when I was hungry, or felt I must (and for that my very life was threatened, do you see?) I'm not sure how I won the acclaim I did. I guess it was my immortality that did it. God bless last stands. At least when everyone else is dead, they can't say you took to hiding. Manliness be damned.

"Help!" I cried. I hoped someone would hear. Perhaps a brave woodsman up late.

"Let me go, please." She smiled, and her fangs were on display. "What are you?" I cried in terror.

"That, little one, is something you shall soon learn."

I remember feeling light-headed. I was draped over her shoulder, like a trophy pelt, and taken off deep into the cave.

I didn't like the cave, but I soon became used to it. My captor did not take to the outside world often and left me alone to wander the extensive labyrinths of her evil dwelling. It occurred to me that if I had a chance to escape, it would be when she went out to hunt. She didn't do this often either. The rest of the time she spent teaching me how to read and write in her ancient language.

When I woke that first time I was taken into the cave, I found myself huddled in a blanket upon a bed of grass. A candle was lit, and flickered amber on a table. My captor, Elin, was sat on a stool, turning over a page from a book. I caught an ink drawing of a skull encompassed by twisted snakes.

"You're awake," she said, not turning from the book.

I found that I was not chained, and bolted upright. The room was small, just tall enough for Elin's frame, with stalactites dripping moisture into a pool. Green fungi shimmered around the water. There was a bookshelf with a few dusty tomes and an hour glass. There was several tunnels branching off from the room. Which one would lead me outside, I did not know.

"There's no point in searching for an escape. I will find you."

"Why have you kidnapped me?" I demanded, angry and scared, face red as an Bretonnian apple.

"For reasons that will be made clear in good time. I'm afraid you'll have to be patient."

I sniffed the air. A stick burned away in the corner set upon a white, round disc about an inch tall. The scent was strong and strangely appealing; smelling fruity and chemically, like the Druid's ailment remedies I used to have to consume when ill.

"Tell me now, damn you," says I, worked up.

She turned to me, her face flashed with anger.

"When my father finds I'm missing, he'll come searching for me."

"He'll find nothing, until I let him."

"He-"

"Silence!" she boomed, fangs on show, devilish glint to her lavender eyes. I fell silent.

She tossed me some cooked meat, which I pushed aside.

"It's not poisoned," said Elin, "and you'll need to feed. Or would you like me to bite you?"

Obviously I had no inclination of what that would mean, but it was a frightening thing anyhow. She smiled at my expression, which must of been a sight, chuckled gaily and turned back to her book.

I gingerly picked up the meat and took a nibble. For a moment I thought I caught her staring at me, but she was engrossed in her book.

"I am descended from Neferata," she said, one day.

By this time I had no idea how long I'd been in the cave. I had not seen the sun for what seemed like an age. My sight had adapted to the general gloom of the place, and when she lit the candle to have a chat I hid my eyes behind my hands.

"Nefer-who?" I replied.

The name was very different from any used by my people. It had a poetic edge to it whereas the tribe names were blunt and crude.

"Queen Neferata was ruler of the city of Lahmia." She could tell I had no inkling where that was. Her bemused smile always told me this. "It is south of here, far far away in the Land of the Dead."

I didn't like the sound of the place very much. A land of the dead? Did her people not bother to bury the deceased? Oh, how little I knew of the world, and of history. Not that I really care even today.

She continued, spouting on about Nehekhara, and about a man called Settra, who was King and claimed his land to be the greatest in all of Khemri. After conquering his fellow kings, he still wasn't satisfied. Death must of scared him, because he got his magicians to work on spells that could defeat death. In fact, it became an obsession of the whole kingdom and soon tombs and Necropoli were sprouting up everywhere. It must have been a damned depressing sight, that's for sure. I'm not certain if you know your history, but she went on about one called Nagash. Now he was a nasty fellow, and I'm fairly certain of all the nasties I've met in my own troubled life, he would have topped the list. He was so muddled, even his own people shunned him.

I can't remember all the details. The Dark Elves came, and he managed to get hold of an elixir of human blood which made him immortal. You'd have to hand it to him however, the little blighter was a damned determined fellow.

This is where it got tricky. The Queen Neferata was opposed to Nagash, and put the immortal one to flight, where upon she entered some Black Pyramid, found a book on death, and started studying it herself. I am told she is beautiful, but I've never had the fortune to meet her myself. She eventually created an elixir which would give her eternal youth. However, after consumption, her heart stopped beating forever, and she craved to drink human blood. Ta-da! Vampires.

Right now, in this dark cave, I became aware of Elin licking her chops, and eyeing me like I was a prized turkey. This was what I was living with.

"Are you going to bite me?" I asked.

"When you're older," she said.

I swallowed my saliva and listened to her laugh.

I only tried to escape once, and that was because she made a game of it, the scary hag. It must have been at night, for Vampires have a terrible reaction to sunlight. Well, some do (blessed magical ring of mine, but that's another story I'll save for another day.)

I listened for her departure from my cavern, and as soon as the door slammed, I took to my feet, gathered my blanket and the food she had left for me to eat, drank down some water and moved to the book case. I was in a rotten mood, so I thrashed at the books, pulling them from the shelf and onto the floor. I stamped on them for good measure, then picked up the hour glass and tossed it into the wall. It shattered violently, a cloud of sand splashing out on the wall and floor. I couldn't find her main book, the one she always studied (the one I came to know as a copy of the Book of the Dead,) but I would have done something nasty to that too. Oh well, sod's law I guess.

I swiftly went about the tunnels, until I became hopelessly lost. Then I heard her laughter, faint and ghastly. It set my hair on end. I imagine I looked like a porcupine at that moment, frozen with fear.

Then I caught her lavender eyes directly above me. They glimmered in the darkness. Elin was scaling the ceiling without equipment, stuck to it like the daemon she was, scuttling like a human spider towards me. I yelped and somehow managed to find the will to run, despite not having my bearings (damned stupid upbringing if you ask me, but at least Elin did something right.)

I must have fled back and forth with that witch above me, her laughter echoing throughout the tunnels. I gave up alright, hands up, pleading for mercy. She scooped me up in her strong arms, patted my head like I was a faithful dog, and took me back to my cavern.

"Well now," she said, surveying the damage I had caused. "You've got some cleaning up to do, young man."

It was night when we left the cave. My first foray back into the world. The moons hung like round eyes in the violet sky.

"You still won't tell me what you're up to?"

"Only when we're inside."

I guessed it had much to do with my father. When I had first met her, how many months ago, Elin had mentioned she knew my mother. She had not gone into details, much like my father and all who knew my mother.

"You realise he'll put a sword through you?"

Elin did not stop, only a ghostly laughter trailed her light step. She seemed to glide over the ground, barefoot. It was both erotic and spooky at the same time. If I'd of been older, I would have liked to have taken her there in the forest, but I was young, and thoughts like that hadn't properly formed in my head. Not that she would of resisted, no doubt. The girls can't resist a bit of Steady. Must be the curling goatee, that's what I always say.

Anyhow, we made off for the fort in the dead of night, and after she climbed the wall with me holding onto her neck, feeling her cold skin which made mine crawl, we were inside. Damn but she could move. I at least admired her for that.

I heard deep snoring somewhere, betrayed by an open window. In the distance, I could see guards patrolling the ramparts, oval shield in one hand, tall spear in the other, relying on their night sight to spot any potential threats. Well, I thought, you've missed us. If I'd been in charge I'd have had the man flogged, but on that note, flogging wasn't a custom of the tribes. I guess he'd be tied to the stone for a few days as punishment, or banished, or buried in the ground with his head on display for the children to p—s on. I would have picked something nasty like that last one no doubt, but alas, I was not in charge – yet.

"Stay silent, little one, one word of warning and I will kill you, have no doubt of that."

My lips were sealed. She smiled. I think she took my character in an instant. I was a coward, a bully who'd pick on weaker kids and hide behind my position to avoid trouble. Not that that wasn't much fun. The games I played on other children were cruel, I guess, though never meant to cause any lasting damage. If they were weak-minded fools and let something like a simple egging bother them for the rest of their lives, well, they deserved it.

We moved along the rooftops, well, she did anyhow. I simply clung to her back. I thought of letting go and rushing off for help, but she was a quick one and had mentioned several times before that she had my scent. The image of the chase through the tunnels still scared me, so I clung on to her shoulders and sobbed like a baby.

I do not know how she had such extensive knowledge of the keep, but as soon as we arrived, slipping in through a wide window, pushing through the thick curtain and into a narrow passage, I knew she had an idea where we were going.

Elin rushed along the corridor, soundless as a ghost, my breathing the only noise that accompanied our journey to my father's room.

I was dropped to the carpeted floor in a wide hallway directly before my father's double doors. Two guards stood there, tall spears in hand, one with long blond hair who was clean-shaven with a thick jaw, the other brown-haired and bearded. Their oval shield boss' gleamed in the flambeaux light that flickered in a brazier. They were broad shouldered men, and excellent fighters, why else would my father use them as guards? I think I only remember them for the shock that was to come.

"Prince!" exclaimed one, as he looked at me. "You're alive!"

"Yes," I said, standing up and staring at the slender figure by my side. Elin looked ready to pounce.

"Who are you?" the other bearded one asked Elin, spear held at her chest.

She did not respond with words. She snarled, baring her fangs and snapped the spear shaft in two. I saw the bearded man's eyes open wide as Elin plunged the weapon point into his throat, which sent him sprawling into the door clutching at his mortal wound. The other guard made a thrust, but I lost sight of Elin, she moved so quickly! The next I saw of her she was behind the guard, finger's drumming playfully on his shoulders. She hissed and plunged her mouth into his neck. When she drew back, a bloody gash poured blood over her figure and onto the wooden floor. She smiled, licking at the crimson on her lips, and struck the man on his temple with her palm. He fell unconscious and lay still (a meal for later I learned.)

The other guard had already spilt his life's blood, and sat, back against the double doors, eyes wide with shock, hands still on the broken spear shaft that protruded from his mangled throat.

I watched it all with horror, heart thumping.

"Calm yourself," she said to me, "I can hear your heart fluttering like an Orc stampede.

Then, wiping the blood from her chin with her forearm, Elin approached the doors, pushing them open and breaking the lock in an instant. What she was going to do to my father was anyone's guess. I knew it was going to be bloody.

He was awake by this point, and armed, his hair long and messy, like a lion's mane. He wore a simple white gown. A girl was in his bed, young and beautiful, but afraid. She was naked and had the white bed-sheet pressed against her ample bosom. I hadn't seen her before (she was a slave he had won from a defeated tribe during my long absence, the Tueni2) nor, obviously, she me.

"Who dar..." My father couldn't finish the rest of his sentence.

"Surprised to see me, lover?" Elin said, tip-toeing playfully forward, her raven hair bouncing as she moved.

"I-it can't be," he muttered, his sword point dropping. "You're dead."

Elin laughed at this of course. She always did have the knack for dramatics did mother.

"I would have been, thanks to you."

"Mother..." I whispered, studying her lithe form as she neared my father.

He noticed the blood on her forearms, the mad glint in her lavender eyes. His sword point flashed upwards.

"Not another step, daemon," he said. "Winstead, come away from her." He motioned me to his side. I went to move but Elin stopped me with a firm hand.

"He's mine now, yours no longer."

"What do you want?" asked my father.

"Revenge," she said.

The girl on the bed shrieked and Elin moved fast as lightning to her side. She held her on the bed, hands clamped round her fragile neck.

"I see you've taken another lover," says Elin to my father. "How long have you been bedding a king, dear?" she whispered into the girl's ear.

"Leave her be, Elindrad," my father demanded, stepping forward. "Or by the gods, I'll finish what I should have years ago."

"Your threats are empty, King," said Elin.

One swift twist and I heard the girl's neck snap in Elin's grasp. My father jumped on the bed and swung at her, but Elin kicked him in the shin, and disarmed him a moment later.

"You're in a spot now, lover," she said.

Elin told me to declare my father dead from a heart attack, which I did looking glum. The people were sad, but glad to have me back, which cheered me up a little. One of the bodies of the guards was used as my father's corpse on the day of his 'burial'. The body should have been cleaned by the druids, but as King I demanded I do it, for I had been away for a long time (eight months to be exact), and wished to spend more time with the body of my father.

They looked at me quizzically, those white robed imbeciles, but the threat of violent death soon swayed them. The following day I buried my father in the tomb of our ancestors to the north of the fort, by the hill overlooking the Lake of Souls3. It's a pleasant spot, especially when it's sunny, or when you're rogering away with a girl. Quite romantic I've been told. I ordered that a period of ten days would be spent in mourning, to honour my father, which was met with many nods and then sudden, maudlin silence.

I didn't know it was that easy to usurp a throne. Obviously in some cases it's not, but back then, in the days of the tribes, I guess it was rather easy. You didn't even need to be a vampire to do that. All you needed was good wall climbing skills, a head for architectural design and a swift sword. I wouldn't be able to do that even with my abnormal strength, being the unashamed coward that I am. The only thing that'll get me sneaking up walls would be a woman calling to me from a window, or it was the only way to escape imminent danger.

Elin was a wicked one alright. She used me and ruled the Burgoise like a shadow queen. My poor father was taken away and locked in a pit below the keeps walls so she could torture him slowly to death.

"First I'm going to break his spirit," she told me as she supped or breakfasted -I'm not sure which, both I suppose- then she laughed and went about telling me my coming business.

It sure did sound like a lot, taking over from father, wearing the crown of my people at the age of fourteen. What with all the tribal wars, and the general wars against marauding Orcs and Goblins, I thought I'd have no life.

But she found things for me to do when I wasn't occupied by tribal politics, or mundane activities keeping the general populace happy throwing the odd colourful carnival.

"You have to learn how to be a man," she told me, one brisk evening in her quarters (she naturally had the King's previous room, and I was relegated to an adjoining servants quarters.)

"Well, then, I don't think you'll be any good, being a woman," says I.

She slapped me to the floor, disturbing the table, knocking pots and plates down next to me.

"Do not be smart with me, child," she said.

For much of the first half decade of my 'reign', I was very much alone, my only company being the several guards I kept outside the room (due to my fear of being captured just like my father-two guards weren't enough- though they rarely spoke to me) and my ghastly mother, who plotted and schemed like the she-witch shrew she was.

She had eyes on more tribes, but I wasn't keen on starting any wars. There was enough trouble as it was without picking a fight.

"The Karolbergs and Endals are easily the weakest," she would say, and list their weaknesses. In fact, every tribe that sat along the Reik was a target. She would have gone for the Unberogens and the Teutognens too if we had the manpower, which I quickly pointed out we didn't.

"Then we should make alliances with the Teutognens, and drive the others into the river," she said with a gleeful look, rubbing her hands together furiously at the thought of world domination.

"Why, we're quite comfortable here," I said, sipping at some Elven wine the Dwarfs were trying to get rid of and I had recently acquired for pretty much nothing. I was quite becoming to this way of life, stomping about in the day away from mother like the model king (ah, those were the days) draped in the finest clothes of the tribe, a scarlet cloak fluttering about my developing form.

You wouldn't guess that I'm a coward by looking at me, for I've a sturdy frame, broad-shouldered and muscled, strong too, even before the touch of the undead. I was beginning to look like my father (before his days of torture anyhow) which a lot of people would note. I believe it might be that wild, Burgoise look in the early days of my whoring that won the ladies hearts (and later, matched by my curling, traditional Empire cavalryman goatee.)

I had my share of peasant girls, which my mother allowed if only to stop my whining. One a week at first, but it soon turned into two or three, and then one for each day. What sort of reputation I was building, Sigmar knows, but my antics in the bedroom was soon becoming the talk of town. There was one rumour I was planning on building an army, and had in mind to impregnate all the women of the Burgoise. I chuckled at that rumour, it was half true I suppose. Now all we had to do was wait eighteen years for a crop of well-trained sons to off and die for the glory of the tribe.

This was to end during my tenth year of rule, however, as a rather annoyed nomadic tribe swept into my lands unannounced and uninvited. They began to trouble us in the crop fields, then the crafty buggers lay siege, settling outside our walls like homeless beggars.

This put me in a frightfully bad mood. I wasn't a warrior king like my father, nor was I a blood-raving lunatic like my bitch of a mother, I was just a randy young man in a bad position.

"There's no question about it," said Elin, overlooking the myriads camp fires that twinkled like orange stars around our sturdy walls from the parapet of the keep. "You'll have to lead your warriors out and drive them away."

"You want me to go out there?" says I.

"They're not going to get bored, child, they're here to make war."

"I'm no fighter."

That was more or less the truth. I had drawn blood on two occasions, duels against two champions from the Endals and the Teutognens to prove my worth as king, but my mother had weakened them with poison the night before and I quickly despatched them. I made decent show of it alright, roaring like the savage, waving my foes heads in the air with one bloodied hand, gore dripping broadsword in the other. The gathered crowds cheered my name in droves. What they didn't know was that my stomach was doing somersaults.

"You can ride and you can use a sword," says she.

It was true, I had been trained to fight, but training was an entirely different matter. I was a damned fine horseman however, and could probably out-pace any rider that ever lived (not including the ones aided by magic of course.) In fact it was pretty much the only thing I was good at, along with languages. I could already speak and write the ancient language my mother claimed descent from. The hieroglyphic script had a certain charm to it, though it was quite basic compared to Reikspiek. I had even dabbled at the language of the Dark Elves, and a bit of Khazalid, the language of the Dwarfs.

"I will help you best as I can, but you must lead my people," she said.

Look here, I thought, it's all very well me playing at king, but it's not _my_ kingdom, I'm just the unfortunate front. You fight for it. I would have said that out loud, but I knew she would probably have thrown me off the rampart to my death. So, instead;

"You can't be serious, look at them down there? Perhaps I should send a runner to the Reikdorfs, maybe they would come to our aid?"

Elin turned to face me, a smile on her face and nodded.

"Good, you are thinking like a king sometimes at least. But you must go. The Reikdorfs are not soft, and would be more inclined to aid us if you asked them for help personally."

I swallowed my mounting saliva. I knew she'd say that. King Anadan had been at war with the Burgoise during my grandfather's reign, but my father and Anadan had reached terms of peace. Would they still keep to them, or would they think me prey for what schemes they had in mind?

There wasn't much for it in the end, what with the decision made by my mother. My people thought of me as brave, like my father, so to keep up appearances I swiftly gathered my bodyguard, announced my plan to the council of druids who would hold the fort in my absence, went to the stables dressed for war; my father's sword and knife around my waist, a long spear in hand and oval shield slung over my back. My small party of eight lonely figures left through the northern gates twenty minutes later, out into the dark and driving cold wind. I'm sure mother was watching.

We rode hard, the cold waters of the Reik glistening with moonlight, whispering as it made its way to the sea. For several hours we rode north, stopping briefly to rest our steeds and take a bit of water from our clay bottles.

"You think they will help us, sire?" asked one of my guards.

It was the giant called Gobrats, a name that to this day still makes me smile. It's so goblinoid I wondered whether or not his parents had a sense of humour. Surely they must have? No matter. He's long dead now.

"Of course," I replied, heartily, slapping the man on his shoulder to raise his spirits. If there's one thing I'm good at is acting and I was putting on a fine performance. "And if not, well, we'll be dead," though my own words didn't comfort me at all.

Gobrats nodded at my words and looked more cheery.

The Reikdorfs were a larger tribe than the Burgoise, scattered over several settlements along both banks of the great river. The King lived at Heartglenn, so we rode instinctively for there. Luck had it it was also the closest of their settlements.

Heartglenn loomed before us, sat on a large peninsula surrounded by cultivated fields. It was pretty much the standard hill fort, with a wooden palisade surrounding the homesteads. Right now it was early in the year, a prime time to get the spring barley ready. An army of swaying barley rocked gently in the wind as we approached, following the main dirt rode perpendicular to the river.

We passed a squat mill nestled on the bank of the Reik, a large water wheel turning over and over at its side, like some strange arm. A man wearing a thick coat and carrying a large pitchfork watched us silently as we raced to Heartglenn. God knows what he thought we were. Raiders no doubt.

By the time we reached the gates, my hands were sweaty, my bowels loose, but there wasn't anything for it but to keep my chin up and at least pretend to act like a brave king.

"Who goes there?" demanded a voice from the battlements above the gate. I could see several men lining the parapet, silver helms gleaming in the moonlight, bows pointing down towards us.

"My name is King Winstead of the Burgoise," I shouted in the manliest voice I could muster considering the circumstances. "I have come to seek audience with your king."

"The King is asleep," came the reply.

"Then wake him, damn you, this is a matter of great importance."

I'm not sure whether anyone noticed, but I cringed, expecting an arrow for my rudeness. Luckily for me Kings are usually arrogant, rude people anyhow, so I was at least fitting the bill.

There was some chatter above, no doubt they were discussing what should be done.

"One moment, I shall see if the King is awake."

The man ducked behind the wall and we sat there, on horseback, for a good thirty minutes before an angry King Anadan strode onto the rampart. He was a big man, with long golden hair that was unfortunately frizzy at this moment. I imagine his head had been on a pillow for the last hour or so.

"Ah, King Anadan," I said, politely. "Forgive this late call, but I have important matters to discuss."

King Anadan nodded.

"No doubt you have," he replied in a gruff, peeved manner, but he instructed his men to let us in, and before long, I was sat in audience within a small hut by the druid groves.4

It was warmed by a fire in the middle of the room, which was surrounded by fist-sized stone and flickered. Our shadows were cast onto the wooden walls. There was little furniture here, save a few stools and a table. Several wolf pelts lined the walls, while a large black bear pelt crouched in a corner.

"I know of your problems," he said, rubbing sleep from his eyes, leaning one giant elbow on the desk. I could see that he was chubbier than I recalled, more fat around the cheeks and belly. He'd been living the good life. "The nomads have you besieged."

"You already know?" I said, leaning forward, accepting some mead brought in by a small boy. It was thick and frothy, but I drank it regardless. Anything less would have been considered a slight.

"I have scouts," he said, looking like a smug b--d.

"Then you already know that we're surrounded."

King Anadan nodded.

"I propose an alliance to drive them from the field."

Anadan smiled.

"I remember the bouts of combat you fought at the tribal meetings... when was it, four years back," I nodded, "you took apart those giant champions of the Endals and the Teutognens, Corsak and Larcenlot. They were great warriors, reputed across the land. Why would one such as you need my help? Surely you can drive them away yourself?"

I had to think quickly.

"Yes," I replied, "you're right. Perhaps we could drive them from my land. It would be a glorious, bloody day no doubt. My father and you were friends. He would have asked you himself in my stead, if he were alive."

"He was a great man," replied Anadan, a melancholy look spread across his stupid, fat face.

"And so to are you. It would be a great honour to have the Reikdorfs at our side, so we can earn glory together. Would it not be a great test of your youths, and a tale to tell?"

I could see this had him right where I wanted. Talk of glory and honour always turned the minds of men like King Anadan.

"When will you need an answer?" he replied.

"Tonight," I said, "or there might not be any nomads left come the morrow."

He stood from his stool, knocking it to the ground, a huge smile on his face.

"Then I'll join you in this glorious venture," he said, and thrust out his hand. I took it in my own strong grasp, and that was how an alliance was made with the Reikdorf, all thanks to my fast cunning and King Anadan's barbarian stupidity.

The night at Heartglenn turned into a loud and busy one. The huge bronze bell was struck with heavy black mallets by men with thick arms and barrel chests to awaken the town, and chimed across the hills, calling the men to gather at the meeting hall. The place was much bigger than our one, with the room filled with tiered seats lining one half of the circular building, where the council sat, and the other half for the standing clansmen.

I took my place besides the King, my loyal bodyguard close by and edgy, still armed and ready. I was feeling a little nervous at the sight of all these warriors. Who was to say they weren't going to chop me down, and then claim the Burgoise next? I'm fairly sure Elin would have something to say about that, but even her power would be no match for so many men.

There was much talk, I can't remember the details, but they were all eager for the glory I had offered them on a plate, with several fellows praising me. "He's a good King," I heard someone mutter, "a brave one too, did you see his duels a few years back?" said another.

After much slapping of backs and whooping like savages, King Anadan ordered them to make ready the horses and to begin the march. By all accounts, I had gathered eight hundred men, three hundred horseman, the rest infantry, to aid the Burgoise. The rest would remain in the settlement, in case there were other eyes watching who deemed Heartglenn profitable during the King's absence. I can't say I blame him. I briefly wondered whether mother had a force waiting for us to leave so she could march on Heartglenn. I'm fairly sure she was thinking about it at any rate. I could see her now, licking her lips, rubbing her hands and laughing.

"Come," said Anadan, "it is time to depart."

We left as the dawn approached, bathing the land in a cold, foggy white. I rode at the front, besides King Anadan and my own bodyguard trailing behind, scarlet cloaks fluttering in the frigid breeze. Behind came the stomp of the Reikdorfs cavalry and infantry, shaking the ground. There was a forest of spears above their heads as they walked and rode five men abreast. I heard the rattle of bits, the cries of men bellowing orders.

It surprises me to this day at how ordered they truly were, like a well paid army that could compete in the Altdorf Regimentals today. It soon broke up after five or so miles, however. That's the problem with barbarians, a lack of discipline. I've seen it be the ruin of armies. Thankfully, I wasn't on the side of the loser on those occasions.

It took us far longer to reach Haldon than it had for me to get to Heartglenn, but then I didn't have an army of hundreds getting lost in the woods, or stopping to eat food. King Anadan shouted himself red trying to move this lot. "Heathens, the lot of 'em," he said to me, damning his eyes and his men in turn.

Haldon was under attack when we arrived. I noticed black smoke trailing arching lines across the sky where fire arrows had been sent into the fort. Thick plumes of black smoke rose from homesteads and a section of the ramparts. Ladders had been placed against the wall, which the defenders tried to push aside. You could hear the screams of men. Somehow, they didn't notice us until it was too late.

King Anadan drew his curved blade and pointed towards the enemy, smiling at me.

"Good, it's not too late then," he said. "Charge, men of Reikdorf, charge!"

I'm not sure what was expected of me, but the cavalry behind us began to canter forward, the infantry began to jog, some topless, bodies shining with sweat; swords, spears, maces, picks, shovels, pitchforks and more spears in hand. There was no choice but to move forward, unless I wanted to be crushed to death by charging horses, so I kicked the flanks of my steed and spurred onwards after the King, who was already a hundred yards ahead of everyone else, screaming and twirling his sword above his head. I hoped by the time we reached the melee, I'd be somewhere near the back.

It happened so quickly and felt like mere seconds, but in reality it must have lasted no more than ten minutes. King Anadan's cavalry crashed into the turning rear of the nomads, and I too. There was nothing for it, so I drew my sword, and screamed and shouted like the rest of the savages tearing across the plains and into the fray. The nomads took to flight, and I cut one down in the back with an excellent slice. A crimson jet shot from his open back and the man fell to the ground.

To my right I heard the scream of a horse as it pitched forward, throwing the rider onto the ground. The man didn't have time to get up, instead he was cut down by the heathen nomads.

I hadn't seen the enemy up close like this. They were darker skinned than any of the tribesman I had seen before, and wore silken clothes. Their swords were curved monstrosities that looked like they could fell oak trees. They were all dark haired too, not a single red-head or blonde amongst them. Then one of them came at me with a spear. I ducked back and watched the point flash by, letting out a terror-stricken gurgle. I fell from my horse (having no stirrups like today's cavalryman) and hit the ground with my shoulder.

I'm not sure what happened next, but the man came at me again. I remember raising one arm across my eyes to shield me from the horror, and thinking, this is it, Winners last minute, but I heard a cry of pain and felt no blow. I drew back my arm and noticed I had stuck him on the end of my blade, which I had obviously held out at him without any thought. A lucky turn anyhow.

Gobrats rode close as I withdrew the blade from the nomad's chest, and seemed proud of my work.

"Come on, at them!" I cried out, noticing there wasn't much left of the foe, who had taken to the hills, leaving their funny bubble shaped tents behind, casting weapons and small silver shields aside for faster flight. I roared out loud then, containing the urge to collapse and shiver.

With the nomads defeated, word of my brave and noble deeds spread amongst the clans. Any problems I had previously with other tribes, especially the Teutognens, were cast aside for the time being. Rumour had it I killed twenty men that day, but I only count it at two, one of them was running away and had his back to me, the other was an accident, but then who cares, why should I dash spirits with the truth? I must say, that after it all, when you're being praised for a warrior King, it was all worth it.

"The Teutognens are trouble," declared my mother. "My spies tell me they are preparing for war and are gathering to the east."

Elin had employed many spies now, and a dark and terrible rumour had spread about town that I was not truly in charge of the Burgoise, and that war was coming. Reports of a dark female figure entering and leaving the keep spread like wildfire. People claimed to see a dark shape scale the very walls, with eyes of lavender.

"We've been at peace with them for over a decade," I told her, leaning back in my chair and overlooking the green fields that lay outside the keep window.

It had been over ten years since that day I made a name for myself with the aid of the Reikdorfs and a bit of luck. During that time the Burgoise had prospered. Three small settlements to the east had sprung, and trade was blooming. The spotted Burgoise horse would sell for lots of money. They were well reared animals with strength, stamina and speed, while we had become very adept at metal work, thanks to the Dwarfs. We had a little stocky, white bearded one in Haldon most of the time for the last two years. He was eager to show us Umgal the art of smithing. He was amusing to watch sometimes, huffing and puffing away, swinging his hammer. He always had red cheeks and I remember him complaining about Umgal beer, comparing it to proper dwarf ale. If you don't like it, bugger off back to the mountains you little b--d, I thought, and reminded myself to tell him on the next occasion.

"They will ride over us, I'm sure of it," she said. I did not know what was about to happen, but if I did, I would have at least tried to make a dash for it.

She studied me with a keen, evil expression. It unnerved me and made her throw back her head to laugh.

"You're still a coward, but I need you to be more than that. I need you to be an ally forever, my child."

"What are you talking about?" I said. Then it struck me what she meant. My eyes widened with horror, but it was too late. Before I could stand she had leapt from her stool, and pinned me to the hard wooden floorboards.

Her hair fell down like a waterfall and tickled my face. She smiled, sat straddling me as though we were about to partake in the missionary, then lunged at my exposed neck with her fangs. I screamed out loud as they penetrated my flesh. I struggled, but she held me firmly in place, until I felt a swoon come over me. I became dizzy, my eyesight blurred. All I could hear was her slurping, feasting on my neck and my own cries of pain and horror. I passed out, never to wake up a normal man again.

"Here, drink this," said Elin, presenting me with a barely conscious human.

It was my father. He was a complete mess, bruised, battered and unshaven. A grey beard stretched to his knees, while his finger and toenails were long, yellow and curled.

"Good lord," I said, studying him with a mixture of pity and disgust. I had not seen him since the day I usurped his throne. I had wanted to check in on him, but I couldn't bring myself to disappoint him. Father would have asked me to end his life, but that was something I couldn't do. "What do you want me to do with him?"

Elin shook her head, parted the curtain of hair that covered my father's neck and gestured to it with her eyes.

I stared at the flesh and felt a more than carnal desire for it. I detected his heart beat where once I couldn't. It was a very weak rhythm, but a beat none-the-less. Beat-beat-beat went father's heart.

I was pale as a sheet, weak too for I'd refused the taste of blood since I had turned five days before. The moment I woke and discovered fangs with a probing tongue, I couldn't help but scream like a girl. I began to feel different though, changed in an indescribable way. A new strength flowed through my veins. Was this confidence?

"You'll die otherwise," she said.

"Good, after what you've done to me, it'll be a blessing!"

"Don't be foolish," she said, and wriggled father like a puppet in front of me as I sulked on my bed. "You'll not regret it."

I looked at him. There it was again.

"You'll hunger for it more if you wait. Quench your thirst now before it becomes too much."

"But he is my father," I said. "I can't feed on _him_."

Father mumbled something, but his eyes were closed. I believe he had entered the madness only torture and isolation brings. But then I may have been wrong, he might just as well have said, 'good on you my boy."

"Fine, very well, I'll bring a maid. Make love to her then feed on her." I liked the sound of that idea. "Do it slowly, for she could last you a month."

I watched Elin depart with my father, then return with a curvy farm girl I remember having only the other week. She'd been a good tussle, eager to please a King. My mother smiled as she closed the double doors, pointing to the girl's neck with a slender finger.

The farm girl came over, white long dress trailing the crimson carpet. Her hair was braided and tied into buns. Her blue eyes met mine and she smiled with those large lips of hers that made me want her more. I quickly paced from my bed and took her in my arms, carrying her to the bed as I fumbled with a breast.

In moments I had her back on the bed, dress above her waist, screaming loud enough to wake the hill fort. Then I went for her neck. She didn't notice at first, but when she felt the fangs she said 'oh, my dear King, whatever next!' which was rather odd, but it didn't stop me.

I tasted her blood and it was marvellous. I felt renewed vigour flow through me, and before I finished I wanted more.

"Good, my son," I heard mother say from behind me.

I drew quickly back from the girl, who had fallen asleep, and quickly pulled up my trousers.

"You watched!" I yelled, angry by the intrusion of my privacy.

"Yes, if only to make sure you did it properly. There are ways to make them turn very slowly, which is what you've done here, and there are ways to kill them in an instant. You will learn them, my son, for it will make or break you."

"She will be a Vampire?"

She nodded.

"If we leave her be, yes, but you will not. You will continue to feed until she is dead."

I looked at the girl sleeping peacefully on my bed, fang puncture marks on her delicate neck. I felt a tinge of guilt, but I must say that had been the best lay I'd had (up to that point), all thanks to the drinking of blood.

Then I was struck by many horrifying thoughts. What if she found out what I was and warned someone? Won't her parents notice her missing and link it with her appearance at the keep? What then? Would the people turn on me?

If I'd of known they would and what was coming, I'd have scampered off into the night long before the chaos to come.

When trouble starts it can sometimes sneak up on you. This time, thankfully, the townsfolk took up arms and demanded entrance to the keep, banging at my door and shouting like the enraged mob they were. I hadn't aged for a day in a decade, and at forty-four, I looked as sprightly as a man half my age. Nor had I been seen in daylight for obvious reasons.

The tribes were at each other's throats, and the dark cloud that hung above my people was too much to bear for the Burgoise. It reached breaking point as the sun was setting. I cant help but think that if they'd met earlier and decided on a plan of action sooner, they'd be dragging me out in daylight, then running off screaming as I fizzled like bacon in the town square.

Sorcery, I heard them shout from the open window as they gathered en mass outside my doors. I rushed from my game with the next farm girl, who remained giggling on the bed seemingly oblivious to my plight.

"Shut up, damn you," I shouted to her as I noticed the burning torches and the spears. They were armed and dangerous.

"Come back to bed," she demanded, and motioned with a loose hand as she stroked her right leg with her left foot.

"Can't you hear that?" I said, turning away from the window in a panic.

The doors to my room opened and my mother stormed in, dressed to the nines as though she were about to attend a ball. I think she'd gone mad long ago, before our meeting. Perhaps finally having her revenge (my father died five years back) knocked the stuffing out of her. I guess that had been all that drove her to this point, and now all she knew was crumbling.

Well, I thought, good.

"The cattle are at our doors!" she cried. It wasn't the first time I'd seen her unnerved. She wasn't as confident as I recalled. Perhaps she feared me. I was as strong as her after all, and she knew how much I hated her.

"Good, maybe they'll ask for your head. I'd give it them too," I shouted. The peasant girl on the bed screamed as she noticed the monstrous glance of my mother. "If you'd only let me be, but no... you had to turn me into a bloody creature of the night, forever doomed to walk this land in darkness. Didn't it occur to you they might get a tad suspicious with me feeding on their daughters and avoiding sunlight as though it were the plague?"

"They're growing smarter," she muttered. She paced quickly to the table, knocked the pottery off with one sweep of her arm, and took it in her hands. She tossed it like a discus out of the window. I heard a cry outside and a voice saying, "woah now, steady on, that's fine furniture, that is!"

"Go and sort them out," Elin screamed, tossing the broken plates on the floor at me like a school girl having a paddy.

I ducked them in time, but the poor peasant girl caught one in the brow and fell back with it sticking out of her head. She gurgled in horror and died on my bed.

I was furious and stepped forward, fangs on show. Mother went to strike me but I caught her cat-claw with a firm grip and punched her squarely in the stomach. She doubled forward and I knocked her to the ground with another punch to the side of her head.

"Damn you, bitch, you got us into this mess, now you expect me to tidy it up! Well I'm not, you hear? I won't. I've had about enough of you as I can take, leading me about like a dog!"

I kicked her again and again until she lay still. I hadn't killed her, but she was prone, and probably shocked too for it was the first time I'd laid a violent hand on her. Before she got up, I was out of the room, making for an exit.

I scooped up a few belongings on the way, packing a valise to bursting point with anything of value I might need to start a new life. The Book of the Dead found it's way in there, along with a dark tome of magic. I can't recall putting them in there, must have been the stress of the moment. I heard the doors downstairs break, the cheered shouts of my countrymen, then the scary mad laughter of my mother echoing along the hall.

I couldn't go downstairs, thanks to all the angry idiots bellowing like madmen below the banister. One took sight of me and pointed, shouting, "there the daemon is, after him!" but I scurried away into the dark.

I reached a window and clambered out into the cold. By the time I made it over the palisade and the past the ditch, the keep was already ablaze. A fiery orange inferno flickered like the gates to the Realm of Chaos. With my valise slung over my shoulder, hand upon the sword hilt of the family heirloom, I made my way off in the darkness, away from the Burgoise and my mother.

_**--**_

_**NOTES**_

- These huge tombs became so frequent and huge that the rulers blocked them all into the giant cities of the dead called Necropoli

2- Tueni – there is no record of their existence, which tallies with the Count's words. The tribe would have been sold into slavery or slaughtered. Either way, the Tueni identity would have been completely destroyed.

3- We believe this to be a location just south of Altdorf. A recent excavation by the late Otto Rudi Stransberg in 2489 revealed a tomb by the lake called Soul. Further exploration led to the discovery of an ancient hill fort close by. Perhaps this is the location of the Burgoise?

4- The druid grove was a small wooded area within the settlement, where the druids would perform most of their religious activities.


End file.
